The Solider and The Freak
by Unic0rn-H0bbit
Summary: Little John Watson is excited to start his new school. There he meets an unusual character going by the name of Sherlock. He's warned to stay away from him, but he can't help but be intrigued...
1. Playing Pretend

**The Soldier and The Freak**

* * *

><p><strong>Playing Pretend<strong>

**1.**

"Now Sweetheart, do you have everything you need?"

"Yes mummy," John Watson tucked his thumbs under the straps of his brand new backpack. It was a cold but clear day, and a haze of perspiration left John's smiling mouth when he replied.

"I'll pick you up by the green door at three okay?" John's mum pointed to reinforce her words before she adjusted the scarf around her sons neck, "Remember not to go wandering away from it."

John nodded and replied cheerily, "Yes mummy. I love you."

"I love you too Button," She leant down and pressed a small kiss to her son's rosy cheek, "Be good!"

John smiled and waved to his mother as he skipped away into his new school. He was excited to start afresh, he has a crisp new rucksack, pencil case and sharp stationery all with a camouflage print that his mummy had brought him. He was looking forward to making new friends and meeting new teachers, although he did miss his old ones. There were a large amount of children chattering and going in through the main entrance so he followed them. He was brought into a large Hall where all the children were sat down in neat but long rows on the navy carpet. There were so many that he was suddenly hit with a wave of nervousness and stopped in his tracks. He started to regret the extra slice of toast he'd eaten this morning. Someone crashed heavily into the back of him and he spun around in alarm.

"I'm sorry," He said, blushing bright red.

The boy looked at him for a second. He had golden brown curls, pale skin and was a little chubby. He said nothing and walked past him, going to sit at the back. John was still blushing when he followed him.

"Good Morning everyone!"

John's attention was brought by the young women standing at the front. She had strawberry blonde hair, and her pale skin had a dusting of freckles. Her mouth was turned up in a wide smile and John felt himself relax again.

"I hope you all enjoyed your weekend and are excited for a new week of fun! Before we start I gave someone to introduce to you all," She paused and gave another large smile, her teeth were slightly crooked but white and her lips were a pale pink, "John Watson? Have you managed to find your way here?"

John swallowed heavily and slowly put up a shaking hand.

"Stand up for me dear. I tried to find you this morning but got caught up in...something else," her glance wavered to a grumpy looking boy with a scowl on his face before turning back to John, "Everyone say Hello to John."

"Hello John," all the kids sang, and John was suddenly very aware of all the eyes on him.

"Now, I want you to all be helping John today, I'm sure you all remember how scary it was on your first day," The teacher said with yet another bright smile.

"Yes Miss!" The children replied in another lyrical tone.

The day then followed with the class singing a song that John recognised from one of his books, and he was then taken by the teacher to a room that had lots of tables, each a bright primary colours, and drawings and posters all over the walls.

"This is the art room," he was told, "Your teacher is called Mr Wood, and I'm Miss Gordon."

John nodded, "Yes Miss Gordon."

"Now, if you need anything just ask Mr Wood or one of the other children okay?" She explained, "I'm sure you'll be making lots of friends. Do you like colouring?"

"Yes Miss Gordon."

"Very good. I'll be back at the end to make sure you get to your next class with the other children."

"Yes Miss Gordon."

The teacher smiled again before she left, and Mr Wood asked him to sit on the yellow table. He was given paper and crayons and was told to draw whatever he liked. He decided a tank would be his next masterpiece.

When he looked up saw that the girl opposite was drawing a house, and the girl beside her had a suspiciously similar image. The two other boys on the table kept their arms over their work so John couldn't see. Maybe they'd have previous experience with the 'copying girl.'

Forty minutes into the lesson the boy with the golden curls walked in. He was wearing black trousers and a mustard sweater.

"William, you have to come to lessons straight away," Mr Wood scowled.

The boy ignored him and sat down next to John, grabbing some paper.

John watched him draw until William looked up and caught his eye. A shiver ran down his spine and he quickly turned back to his own drawing.

Mr Wood began walking around and praising the drawings. He stopped behind William and his expression changed.

"What... What is that William?" he asked nervously.

"My name isn't William. It's Sherlock. "

That was the first time that John had heard the boy speak.

"That's a corpse. He was killed by his Uncle. You can see by the angle of entry that he used a blunt object. Probably a kitchen utensil, a rolling pin I think."

"Oh..." Mr Wood went pale, "What...er, why don't you draw something else?"

John couldn't help but stare at the picture and then Sherlock.

Sherlock then persisted to draw a decapitated head until the end of the hour.

"John?" Miss Gordon was stood behind him, he hadn't seen or heard her come in and he jumped, "Ready to go to literacy?"

John nodded and got out of his chair, still glancing at the Sherlock boy every few minutes as Miss Gordon started a conversation with Mr Wood.

"I like your drawing," he said nervously. He figured it was better be friends with this guy than enemies.

Sherlock continued scribbling, "I know."

That was the first encounter that John Watson had with Sherlock Holmes.

**2.**

John settled into his new school very quickly. After a few more days he had found himself a little group of friends. Nancy was a very small girl with pretty blue eyes and a freckled nose, she wore her blonde hair in a ponytail everyday and had allowed John into her current group. There was James, her twin brother who always stood protectively at her side, and his friend Michael who never really said much. Then again that could because of the fact he always had his thumb in his mouth. His eyes were an expressive shade of brown and his hair was a tangled black mess on top of his head. John sometimes wondered if he owned a hair brush.

"Hey John, over here!"

John noticed Nancy waving her arm at him widely and quickly tuned to kiss his mum goodbye, "See you later Darling!"

"Bye mum!" He jogged through the playground to just friends who were stood by the green door.

"Hey guys," He smiled.

"Hey John," James greeted, "Look at my new Pokemon card!"

Nancy rolled her eyes, "Oh please, that one's not even that…"

"Is too!" James pouted.

"I've actually had that one for a while…," John admitted, immediately regretting it when James' face fell, "It's still really cool though" he reassured.

"Oh look, freaks here!" Nancy suddenly called.

John turned around and saw William...Sherlock...whatever his name was walk across the playground. He kept his head down while a majority of the children looked up , pointed and laughed. Even Michael took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to let out a snigger.

"Guys don't," John frowned, putting his hand on Nancy's arm.

Sherlock looked up at him with a confused expression.

"But he is weird John," Nancy defended, "He's only little but he's already in school."

It was only when she pointed it out that John noticed that Sherlock was unmistakably younger than all the other children. He supposed he hadn't noticed before because he was still tall.

"His brother is weird too."  
>John listened to the acquisitions, "He's a good drawer. I sat next to him when I first got here."<p>

The bell rang and the children filed in through the door, the previous incident long forgotten and replaced with the morning register and singing as quick had it had arrived. Apart from Sherlock and John of course.

It wasn't until the next day that John saw Sherlock again. He had a habit of only turning up to certain classes, although John has no idea where he was during the others. He walked into Numeracy and sat down next to John without a word or a glance. John didn't dare say anything to him first, he was still more than a little scared of the boy.

"Now, I'd like you all to work with the person sitting next to you and help each other remember your times tables okay?"

John's maths teacher was a middle age man with a bald head and a love for coffee that had stained his teeth yellow. He could use a breath mint too.

John figured that it was okay to look at Sherlock if he was his partner. He turned his head slightly and saw that Sherlock was studying him intently. He swallowed.

"I...Er…." John stuttered.

"John Watson, correct?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, "Yes."

"What you did this morning? Don't do it again," Sherlock looked up through his eyebrows at John.

"I was…"

"Trying to help, I know. Don't."

John was surprised when he felt anger bubble up inside him, "Okay," he replied through gritted teeth. He thought he at least deserved a thank you. He stood up for him in front of everyone, even his friends, and Sherlock was angry at him for it?

"Look! Sherlock has a friend," A girl opposite them said in a smug tone.

Sherlock glared at her but said nothing.

"Are you a freak too?" She asked, turning to John.

"What? No I was just…!"

"We're not friends Georgia Benson," Sherlock suddenly said in a soft tone. John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"If we were friends I would have told John here that you split paint all over the floor and blamed Nicholas," Sherlock continued in the same tone.

"How did you know?" Georgia looked horrified.

"I know everything," Sherlock replied. John saw him smile for the first time and there was something a little unsettling about it.

Georgia quickly shut her mouth and was suddenly very interested about the blank page in front of her.

John chewed his lip, "Thank you."

Sherlock shrugged, and slid a piece of paper across the table to John. It had all the times tables on it quickly scribbled down in neat handwriting, "In case he asks you."

John took the page, "What about you?"

Sherlock smirked, "I'll be fine."

"Thank you."

Sherlock shrugged again.

John felt Sherlock's eyes on him for the remainder of the lesson but he didn't dare look up. He had a strange fuzzy feeling in his stomach and he quickly realised that he was silently hoping that he and Sherlock would become sort of friends. He seemed strange sure enough, but he was also fascinating and John wanted to find out as much as possible about him. When the teacher dismissed them and the Children made the short journey across the hall into the next classroom in a large group, John made sure to stay close to Sherlock while trying not to be too obvious. However in the pull of the crowd Sherlock somehow escaped his view. John didn't see him once in his next class, he spent most of it thinking about where he could have gone. In fact he was distracted for the remainder of the day until his mum picked him up.

"So, honey, how was your day?" John's mum asked, holding his hand so that he didn't get lost in the crowd of children and parents.

"Good," John replied, looking around for Sherlock.

John's mother gave a concerned frown that only she could, "Have you lost something dear?"  
>"No mummy," John shook his head and then gave another quick glance of his surroundings.<p>

"We'll lets hurry up and get home, it's very chilly today."

John would have stayed out in the cold for another glance of Sherlock, but he supposed he would see him tomorrow. 1069W.

**3.**

The temperature plummeted even lower over night and a light dusting of snow soon tuned heavy. John woke up warm and snug in his bed, and was confused by how light it was outside. Usually when he woke up for school it was still dark and he could sometimes see the stars from his window. A strange light was filtering in through the gap in his green curtains and his curiosity got the better of him, causing him to tumble from his bed on sleepy legs. His bare feet padded over to the window across his bedroom carpet and he peered through the gap. He let out a groan and pulled the curtains apart just to make sure. There was a thick covering of powdered glitter sparkling across the grass and roads. A young women was treading carefully over an icy patch and birds sat huddled together on power lines for warmth. It was undoubtedly a snow day.

John let out a sigh and walked back to his bed to shove on his slippers and grabbed a sweater from his closet to put over his tank pyjamas because it was so cold. His slippers made a soft scuffing noise has he dragged his feet along the hallway and into the kitchen. His mum was sat up to the counter with a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

"Good morning," She smiled, hopping up to get him some cereal, "Do you want to call any friends to come over and play?"

"No thank you," John replied, clambering up onto the chair beside his mum.

"Are you sure? You love playing in the snow," She placed a bowl and spoon in front of him before going to pour a glass of orange juice.

"I have a sore throat," John lied, stirring his cereal around in a circle.

That was a mistake. John's mum left an empty glass and carton of juice on the counter and ran over to her son, feeling his forehead and asking all sorts of questions. She pulled his sweater down to cover more of his body before sending him back off to bed with his cereal abandoned. He made no objection and quickly got comfortable in his bed, and it didn't take long for his mum to come into his room with the glass of previously abandoned juice and tuck him up tightly.

"Let me know if you need anything," She kissed his forehead, noting that his temperature was still fine.

"Yes Mum," John replied.

John didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have done for a short time because the next thing he knew his mum was knocking gently on his door.

"John, there's some friends outside. Are you feeling any better?"

John decided he just as well go out and play with his friends when he had the chance, he told his mum that he'd be out soon and quickly put on all his winter clothing. She warned him to be careful and have fun before he left, running out through the door and almost slipping over in his haste.

"Hey John!"

He was hit by a cold flurry of ice that went in his mouth and dampened his scarf. A huge roar of laughter followed and Nancy came into view wearing a bright pink coat. John quickly grabbed his own handful of snow to seek his revenge. Nancy noticed and squealed, quickly ducking behind a shrub.

"That's cheating," John protested.

"No it's not."

At that moment not only did Nancy jump up from behind the shrub with a fist full of snow, but also James and Michael. John barely had a moment to take in the information before he was in the middle of a blizzard. He yelled and blindingly and grabbed some snow, throwing it in the direction he thought the three were standing. A squeal suggested that his thoughts had been correct, and before he knew it the three were throwing handfuls of roughly compacted ice crystals in every direction amongst the cries.

A loud grunt made all three stop, Nancy gasped in horror. John had hit a boy older than them who had been walking along the pavement with his younger brother.

"I, I'm so sorry, I didn't see," John stuttered.

The older boy wiping melting snow from his shoulder and turned to his younger brother who was laughing hysterically at the sight, "Shut up Sherly."

"Well done John," the boy commented once he had managed to calm his laughter, "I never thought I'd say that."

John frowned in confusion before he realised the younger of the two boys wrapped up in an oversized coat and earmuffs was no other than Sherlock. He felt his cheeks blush red and an awkward laugh left his lips.

"Come on, mother will blame me if we're late," the older boy said grabbed the complaining Sherlock by the arm and tugged him away down the street.

"John," Nancy hissed, "You really don't want to be friends with him. Everyone will laugh at you."

John shrugged, silently watching the two walk away until they were out of sight before he turned back to his friends, "Are we having a snowball fight or not?"

A huge amount of snow hit the back of John's head.


	2. YourCroft Holmes

**The Soldier and the Freak**

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><p><strong>YourCroft Holmes<strong>

**1.**

The next day was, yet again, a snowday. John however was sat in the window with his gloves and coat on early enough to watch the sunrise over the snowy peaks on top of hedges and fences, making them light in a freezing fire. He wanted to build an amazing snow castle before Michael, James and Nancy came over again to impress them. When it was light enough he quickly made his escape outside before his mother was even out of bed. It had, again, snowed all night meaning that another layer of fine fresh snow was ready to destroy. A light flurry of it was still falling when John left the house and it fell into his eyelashes. The scent in the air was fresh and clear with hint of wet grass that filled John's lungs and made him feel like he could achieve anything. His little house had a pleasant front garden where the previous owner had planted an array of flowers along the edges, and in a large circular flower bed in the centre. These, of course, we're currently hiding away from the winter and we're snug beneath a blanket of snow that mother nature had tucked them in with. It was strange to think of anyone else living in the house even though it was relatively new to him.

The sky was slowly clearing of fluffy clouds in places, revealing pristine blue sky and and glorious summer sunshine though everything was still tinged with red light. There were three wise birds sitting on the power-lines watching him carefully, ready to snatch a juicy worm if he uncovered one while destroying the snow although it was unlikely. The worms themselves had burrowed deep, closer to the core of the earth where it was warmer and safe from beady black eyes and pecking beaks.

He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve and clapped his hands together before gathering as much snow as he could. He build it into a large compact pile that he shaped into tall rectangle that reached his shoulders.

"What's that?"

The voice made John jump, the three couldn't be here already! He peered around his structure and saw Sherlock standing in the snow with dripping wet curls and a shovel in his hand.

"I er...I'm making a castle," John replied, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock suddenly hid the shovel behind his back, "Nothing."

John furrowed his brows, "Right."

There was a lengthy silence where the two stood looking at each other. Eventually John took a deep breath and went back to working on his castle by continually shaping the sides.

"Hitting my brother yesterday was funny," Sherlock said, studying John intently.

John blushed at the memory, "It was an accident."

"It will give me something to make MyCroft feel uncomfortable about in the future."

"MyCroft?"

"Yes my brother, MyCroft."

"YourCroft?"

"No, MyCroft," Sherlock scowled, "What is wrong with you?"

John flinched back, "Nothing."

Sherlock shrugged and walked away without a word, leaving John feeling confused and embarrassed.

"John Watson! I thought you'd been taken from your bed! Don't scare me like that, I need to know where you are at all times!" Emma Watson stood in her nightgown and slippers with her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry mum," John bowed his head in shame.

"In. Now." She ordered.

"But Mum I... "

She glared.

"Yes mum," John dragged his feet miserably into the house, his numb cheeks burning with fire once they hit the heat of the house in comparison to outside. At least Sherlock hadn't been there to see him get told off. What had he been doing with the shovel? Hiding a dead body? John laughed at himself but then stopped abruptly. For some reason he wouldn't put it past the boy.

He wasn't allowed to go out and play for the rest of the day after his escapade in the early morning. He was told to clean his room and play nicely inside by himself. Later in the day his father managed to make a rare call back to home.

"Hey Buddy! How are you doing?" John's father had a deep and gruff voice, but it was somehow also soothing.

"Good, I miss you," John young fingers clung to the telephone with keen hands. The plastic was cool and calming under his fingers.

"I miss you too, so much John," He paused, emotion brimming in his voice. "How's your new school, are you making lots of friends?"

"Yeah, three..." he paused chewing his lip and wondering if Sherlock and he were friends yet, "It's snowing here," John told him.

"Oohh, sound so exciting! I wish I was there Buddy."

"Me too. Are you driving lots of tanks?" John's eyes sparked at the thought, thinking of the toy ones in his room.

James Watson chuckled, "Yes, lots. I'll send you another picture if you'd like"

"Yes please!"

"Okay I'll... Oh, oh I've got to go John, I'll speak to you again soon okay?"

"Okay Daddy. I love you."

"I love you too Buddy, and your Mum."

The line went dead and John sighed as he put it back in the holder. He hadn't seen his father for one and a half years now, he had a notice board on the wall of his room that was dedicated to pictures of him. His favourite was one of him, his dad and his mum on holiday when he was five. He always took it with him when they stayed at his grandma's house.

"Are you okay Button?" John's mother ruffled his hair lightly before putting an arm around his shoulder.

"Yeah."

"You know your dad is a good man for being in the army. He's fighting for our country. He's a hero."

"A hero?" John furrowed his brow, "Like Superman?"

She laughed lightly and nodded, "We'll see him again soon I'm sure."

"I really really hope so."

"I do too ," She said quietly.

There was a dull silence before Emma Watson squeezed her son's shoulders, "How about some ice cream?"

"Mum! It's snowing, we can't have ice-cream."

"Hmm, maybe you're right. How about some hot chocolate instead?"

**2.**

It took another two days before the schools around the area reopened. John hadn't seen Sherlock since the time with the snow castle, even though he kept an eye out when he Nancy, Michael and James helped him build it the day after. When they'd finished their fingers were numb and their chests ached from breathing in the icy air, but their creation was something they could be proud of and John's mother made them all hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. The delectable scent filled the room, and the steam from their mugs created patterns on the windows, making them almost opaque. John drew pictures on the frosted glass until his mother caught him.

The young Watson was excited has the musty smell of forgotten sandwiches and pencil sharpening hit his nose, walking through the doorway and sitting down on the carpet with a little bounce. The lights above them gave an artificial yellow light and flickered occasionally on the windy Friday morning. His mood heightened even more when Sherlock sat down next to him and let out a quiet, _hello_ _John, _under his breath.

"Hi," John replied, glancing to the side.

Sherlock didn't join in with any of the assemblies songs or even clap. He sat as still as a statue staring dead at the carpet, or occasionally looking up at John curiously, as though he was working out a math problem. Sherlock had the most inquisitive eyes that John had even seen, and having them on him made his palms sweat. When the assembly was over all the children scrambled to their feet and we're led out one by one with teachers.

"How is your snow Castle?" Sherlock inquired quietly while their row was waiting to leave.

"My friends helped me finish it," John revealed.

Sherlock gave a short nod and went back to his silent self. John felt oddly proud with the progress between them both, and found himself leaving the room with a smile on his face.

After that Sherlock often asked John small questions or greeted him, and then went back into himself. In a way it looked like he was unaware of everyone and everything around him when he did that, but John swore he could almost hear the sound of his brain whirring. From there it developed to John bravely attempting a conversation, managing a few sentences out of him before he closed himself away. He seemed to give a short sharp nod beforehand as though he was warning John that he was no longer available for discussion. John always wondered what was going on in his head but never asked what.

"Hey guys!" John smiled almost two weeks later.

The snow had turned to ice, to muddy grey slush along the roads, back to ice and then it had finally continued its course down the drains and beyond. The air was still clean and cold and rain was a common occurrence, washing the pavement and turning them into deadly ice rinks. The sky above was still a constant blanket of cloud, creating protection enough to stop the temperature dripping low enough to snow again.

Nancy turned around in her bubblegum coat with a stern expression, "John, we need to talk."

John's expression fell for a second before he gave a weak laugh, " What are you talking about?"

"It's about you and Sherlock. We can't be friends anymore," James said.

"What? Guys, please... " John trailed off as he took on their expressions. Deadly serious.

"We did warn you."

"But I...I...," John chewed his lip, they had. There was nothing more to say. He turned around and walked slowly to the other end of the playground with his shoulders hunched. He was stood on his own watching his ex-friends muck around for a while with a heavy feeling in his chest before he noticed Sherlock had moved to stand beside him at sometime. He smelt of woollen clothing with a hint of sweetness.

"Hello John."

"Hey," John replied, leaning back against the wall. It was freezing through his shirt and jumper and made him shudder.

"Why are you over here?"

"Because I have no friends, " John replied bitterly. He felt like he should own some hostile feelings towards Sherlock, after all it was partly his fault, but he didn't in the slightest.

"Neither do I," Sherlock replied, "All these children are embarrassingly stupid."

John smirked and looked at his shoes, "Could we have no friends together?"

"I do hope you realises that doesn't make sense," Sherlock turned head to look at John and raised both eyebrows, causing lines to appear on his forehead.

John chewed his lip, "Are you busy after school? You could come to my house," he suggested.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes to slits, showing only a flicker of the intense colour of his iris. After a few long seconds of deep thought he opened his eyes and gave his verdict, "Okay," a sharp nod followed and he turned back into a stony silence with melancholic features.

John gave a gratified smile as the bell rang, signalling the start of school. He had art first and Sherlock was sure to sit next to him, John had come to love watching him draw. He often stuck his tongue out of his mouth when he was concentrating hard and didn't particularly listen to the techniques that the teacher was demonstrating to them. However he did deem interested in the history of the artists that they were looking at.

**3.**

"Hey Mum, this is Sherlock. Can he stay for tea please?" John bounded up to mother with Sherlock following cautiously behind.

Emma pursed her lips and scanned Sherlock who stood behind John staring at his shoes, "Of course Dear. Hello...Sherlock."

Sherlock gave no reaction.

"Does he umm...do his parents know?"

John nodded, "His big brother will tell them."  
>"Okay, well come on you two. Let's get into the warm, how about Pizza for tea?"<p>

"Yes!" John grinned, trotting along beside his mother and checking that Sherlock was following.

The pavements and roads were busy with school children and parents making the desired journey home. Large waves of bibble and babble filled the air as parents and children shared the facts and excitements of their day, along of course, with the odd groan and protest of parents rules and their future plans. John looked up at the sky and was grateful to see a break in the clouds, the sun's light was just poking through and giving the end of the day a warm haze of yellow. As much as he loved the winter and snow he was looking forward to being able to play in the sun and watch the flowers in their new garden sprout up with bursts of vibrant colour. Everything about winter was mostly grey and white, and John longed for the dazzling shades of green and the striking colour of the sky.

"How was your day boys?" John's mother asked, her high heels clip-clopping along the pavement in a skilled practise. She had tied her hair up in a neat bun out of the way, but during her working day a few strands had fallen down and were framing her elegant face.

"It was okay," John replied, "I can't wait to get home though."  
>Emma laughed, "Well boys, enjoy school while you can. Before you know it you'll wish you were back at pre-school."<p>

After a fifteen minute walk John opened the door for Sherlock to walk inside. He did so hesitantly, pausing in the hallway and glancing around for a second before his eyes dropped back to his shoes.

"We're going to go in my room," John told his mum, almost grabbing Sherlock's hand to pull him along but then thinking better of it.

Sherlock followed him with a philosophical look in his eye, observing the simple decor of his surroundings. John hesitated outside his room, trying to think frantically if there was anything embarrassing in the room that Sherlock could find. Realising that even if it were true there was nothing he could do about it now, he turned the handle that was cool under his palm. The door swung open inwards and Sherlock walked in first. John found himself standing by the doorway waiting nervously for Sherlock's reaction and his verdict.

John's room was small in size but held a lot of objects. His walls were a spring green with white along the top and bottom, and his carpet was dark navy. The walls themselves were filled with shelves on three sides,apart from the wall next to the door where a large cork-board was settled. On the shelves were dozens of toys and knick knacks that John and collected. Many were figures of tanks, cars and helicopters. On one shelf there was a collection of small plastic army men stood in rows. Other items included neatly organised pens, pencils and crayons; videos stacked high on top of one another that John hadn't watched for years; colouring books, both completed and untouched, plain paper and a purple yoyo that his dad had given him and that John had never gotten the hang of. His green curtains were pulled aside, and the suns hesitant light was shining upon the cork-board. On it contained all the things that John had linked to his Dad, photo's, drawings and letters pinned carefully and with love. John's bed was neatly made with his green duvet tucked in around the edge where it was pressed against the wall. On his pillow were his tank pajama folded into a neat square along with his brown teddy, and on the floor neatly side by side were his fluffy warm slippers.

Sherlock spent some time looking around and taking it all in, a wistful look on his face. He touched nothing and didn't move from the spot in the centre of the room, he simply turned around slowly as though he was absorbing and making a mental note of every object in the room. John soon realised that he probably was, he had the feeling that Sherlock's mind was like a sponge...or maybe a vortex sucking the world around him in. As more time passed John's heart rate got steadily higher, he swallowed nervously and played with his hands. He didn't understand why he was so anxious, but now Sherlock seemed to be his only possible friend and a bedroom says a lot about a person. Sherlock wasn't just taking in the room he was taking in John. It was an important moment.

Eventually Sherlock turned back to John with a straight expression, "So...your favourite colour is green?" he asked.

The corners of John's mouth quivered and he smiled, a smile that soon turned into a laugh, "Good guess, what's yours?"

Sherlock's shoulders hitched and then fell in a shrug, "I've never really thought about it."

"Well why don't you choose now?" John suggested, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Sherlock glanced around the room again, "I'm not sure...red maybe?"

John nodded, "That's a good choice," he supported.

"Not enough to make my whole room look like it is bathed in blood though," Sherlock said seriously.

John laughed and blushed, "Yeah, mines probably a bit much."

Sherlock shook his head, "I like it. It's very...devoted."

John blushed even redder, "Err...Thank you."

It looked like they could turn out to be friends after all.

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><p><strong>An:** Thank you all for your follows on the previous chapter. If you're interested in more please leave a comment telling me so.


	3. Teenagers

**The Soldier and the Freak**

* * *

><p><strong>Teenagers<strong>

**1.**

Over the years John and Sherlock's friendship remained mostly the same. They both seemed to slip into their respective roles that kept the harmony of an odd comfort. It was probably strange but it worked for them. John found that he quite liked sitting and watching Sherlock's brain whirl around. Once or twice he had got up suddenly with his eyes wide and bright, his mouth turned up in a smile of pure happiness and excitement, and he left without a word. John's had gotten into the habit of bringing a book or some homework whenever he and Sherlock were hanging out, and he was slowly becoming quite the student. This meant that they were both accepted into the same middle school, and John was delighted to have his best friend with him for the journey. Being friends with Sherlock had stopped anyone else from approaching him in the course of friendship, but he hadn't been bothered with it during first school or the first year of middle school, the name calling however, had begun to bother him greatly.

Walking past the group of school bullies was a scarring and terrifying experience, but it was the only way to get to PE; the class that was soon becoming his favourite. The group of five boys liked to hang around hidden by the wall of the hall smoking heavily and skipping class. The days were getting hot again, and John has his jumper tied around his waist by its sleeves as there was no room in his bag. Even with only his red polo shirt a layer of salty perspiration was settled on his top lip has the sun abused the back of his neck. He gripped his bag tightly, ignored his rapidly beating heart and took a deep breath before marching confidently in front of the group. There were only a few clouds lounging around on top of the blue sky like lilos, the grass had recently been cut and the sweet hazy scent tickled John's nose and made him drowsy. The trees were lush and full, their thick leaves shivering in delight as the breeze blew through them. A bird called out to its friends in the distance and they gave a cheery reply.

"Oh look who it is!"

John winced but kept his eyes firmly ahead of him, walking quickly without making his urgency too obvious.

"He's ignoring us, how rude!"

John ran the last few meters to the door, the dry air getting stuck in his throat. A few choice words were called after him and he ignored the tears in eyes, walking swiftly forward to find his friend. At least they hadn't stolen from him or hurt him this time. Inside he was hit by a wave of air from a battered looking fan that someone had plugged in, attempting to create a breeze. The walls were a faded and dirty grey colour painted right over the brick from the amount of fingertips pressed against it, but the teal borders were still crisp. The floor was a dark blue and the lights a musty yellow that made John's head ache. The room was thick with the scent of sweat and lynx deodorant, making his nose wrinkle in disgust.

Sherlock's appearance had changed greatly during the short years since they met. He had a number of large growth spurts and had turned tall and slim. His once sandy coloured hair had slowly darkened and was now almost black in colour, although his eyes were as intriguing as ever. John found him sat outside the changing rooms in his kit scribbling furiously into a notebook. He sat with his legs crossed, his bony knees sticking out at sharp angles from his black shorts. His skin was nearing translucent in colour and his lips a rosy pink. He looked up when he heard John cleared his throat and a rare smile flickered across his features.

"What are you doing?" John asked, smiling back.

Sherlock said nothing and cocked his head to one side. His tongue darted out of his mouth and traced his bottom lip, making it shiny with saliva, "What happened to you?"

Even though it happened at least once a day, John was always shocked when Sherlock caught him out like that. It was almost as if he had the ability to reach right into his mind and pluck out whatever he desired.

"Just a run in with the jerks," John admitted bitterly.

Sherlock's expression darkened in anger, the dangerous look in his eyes made John shiver, "Did they hurt you?"

"No, no I'm fine. I'll be back in a bit," John told him, slipping into the changing rooms.

Sherlock nodded to himself and fell back into a stony silence and returned to his notebook.

**2.**

John gulped down huge lungfuls of intoxicating fresh air. Sweat tracked down his face on a determined mission to fall to the floor or at the very least soak his shirt. Sherlock stood on the sideline, stretching three of his long and elegant limbs and occasionally walking up and down as though he was taking part. He still had his notebook tucked tightly under his left arm, acting as though it contained the most precious thing in the world. John knew better than to ask, even if Sherlock told him the likelihood of him understanding was almost nil. John hoped silently that the notebook was full of little sketches, possibly of cats in top cats. Sherlock's ability to seem human was something he was not skilled in, nor did he seem to care, but John still thought there was something under the unemotional exterior. Sherlock gave up acting and sat on the floor, he took a pencil out of the mess of curls on his head and opened it up. The instructor just left him alone, he'd given up trying to get Sherlock involved within the second week of term, he only took part when they ran (he also always won.) His thin frame flew through the air as though it were unaffected by gravity.

"John! What are you doing?"  
>His attention was brought back to the game of rugby, and he blushed furiously when he realised he had been staring intently at Sherlock on the sidelines. Thankfully his cheeks were already flushed from the exercise so it was barely noticeable.<p>

He cleared his throat and ran forward as one of his teammates slapped him on the back. However a giggle caught his attention, his head turned around to see two girls stood on the other end of the field. They clutched each other's arms when he noticed them and giggled again. A warm feeling spread over John's shoulders and he held his hand up to them in greeting. One of the girls was quite a bit taller than the other, but both where blonde and wore school black skirts (which were possibly a little shorter than regulation specified) and red poloshirts tucked into them. The one on the left had her jumper tied around her slim waist and the other who was a little broader had it slung over her shoulder. They both waved back and quickly rushed off the pitch.

That day after school Sherlock stayed over for barely half an hour. He and John sat on his bed in silence doing their respective work, John his homework and Sherlock still writing down his thoughts in his book. It was still light outside and John's curtains were pulled back and the window open to let in a slight breeze. It rose goosebumps on John's bare arms and tickled the top of his spine in a threatening shiver.

"UGH!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth. His shirt was askew and ridden up to show part of his pale stomach as he stretched his arms above his head, his joints clicked as though he had been sat down for days but he seemed anything by satisfied. He let out another grumble and began pacing again.

John jumped at the unexpected violent motion, his pen slipping off the page and leaving an irritating mark, he huffed in anger and stared at the stray mark in anger before he addressed Sherlock with, "What's with you?" His voice sharper than he intended.

"Nothing you'd understand," Sherlock snapped back straight back, not sparing John a glance.

John blushed in embarrassment, Sherlock thought he was stupid. He didn't know why that upset him so much, in comparison to his friend's intelligence he was nothing but a flea; and yet he felt a sharp pain in his chest, "How do you know that?"

"Because I'm surrounded by people with the IQ of a peanut,"Sherlock threw his arms up in exasperation, "It's so booorning."

John chewed his lip and put his homework to one side, "Well I'm sorry," he muttered darkly, a heavy weight falling on his shoulders.

Sherlock paced back and forth a few more times before he seemed to register that John had spoken and made his reply, "It's not your fault you're so inferior."

"Why do you bother with me at all?" John asked, playing with his hands before looking up at Sherlock through his eyebrows while telling himself he didn't care.

Sherlock paused in his pacing and looked at John as though he was a math problem, his brow creased in concentration, "...I don't know," he said quietly.

John felt tears sting his eyes and he looked away embarrassed, "Right."

"I'm going home."

Sherlock had left the room before John had even looked up, he saw that the boys notebook was left on the bed and in his anger he picked it up and threw it powerfully across the room. It it the wall and slide down into the bin. John blinked at it for over a minute before he fished it out and lay down on his bed, hugging it to his chest.

His phone beeped a few minutes later and he lunged for it, hoping to see the name"Sherly" light up the screen. Instead it was a Twitter notification that made his face fall. Sherlock didn't have any social media. Regardless he opened it up and saw one of the girls who had waved at him earlier had followed him, he screwed up his nose at her heavily made up face but followed back anyway. Almost instantly "Kirstzee Benton" sent him a direct message.

**Hey, you played really well today (: (: (: **

John raised an eyebrow and wiped any remaining tears from his eyes, he stared at the message for a little while and the emotions after it. Sherlock's messages to him were always so emotionless and blunt no matter how many times he put exclamatives or emoticons.

**Thank you (: (: (:**

John felt a smile linger on his lips as she replied again within seconds.

**So I was wondering if you wanna see a movie this weekend? :$**

The smile faded and his cheeks glowed red. He read the message again and again until the words seemed to dance around on the screen. He had no idea. He and Sherlock were meant to go to the bookstore this weekend but now he guessed that it wouldn't be happening. Sherlock never asked him to do things, he only agreed when John suggested. Maybe he hadn't wanted to do anything with him this whole time. He felt slightly quesey.

**Sure (:**

He sent the message before his brain had even registered the decision. He started at it in shock and chewed his lip, surely it couldn't hurt to go? He stood up and shut the window to stop the breeze that was chilling his skin and got changed into his pyjamas before returning to his phone.

**I'll send you my number :D**

**3.**

Looking back John had never really thought all that much about relationships; his mind was always preoccupied with something different. His homework, his Dad, his friends, his future. Maybe that was the reason it felt weird walking down the road with a girls hand entwined with his own, or maybe even if he had thought about it he would still feel slightly...uncomfortable. He felt a strange tingle in his shoulders that he couldn't quite describe and that he wasn't sure he liked. He found his brain full of silly thoughts. He worried that his hand was too hot or too cold or even...sweaty. However the day, lucky enough, had a light breeze that blew Kirsten's blonde hair around her face and cooled the back of John's neck. He thought that he was dressed to formally or too casually. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a purple shirt. He loved the colour purple. What if she hated the colour purple? He shouldn't wear purple next time. Is there going to be a next time? Does he want there to be a next time?

"What did you think of the movie?" Kirsten asked him, interrupting his thoughts. Her head was tilted her head to one side; her eyes were a pale blue and surrounded by smoky make-up and thick clogged lashes.

"It was good, what did you think?" John smiled at her, wondering how long he'd been silent and lost in his muddled thoughts.

"It was good," She swung their arms back and forth between them happily, "Do you want to get something to eat?"

"I'm okay, we can if you want though," John backtracked as they walked past a bustling cafe. The smell of chips and sweet tomato sauce wafted from the open windows, a small child waved at them through the glass and split coke all down his shirt.

She squeezed his hand and he jumped a little in shock as they continued , "Nah I'm good."

"So what do you wanna do?" John laughed and looked at his feet move forward, "It's really weird that our feet just...move without us thinking about it."

Kirsten laughed, a sweet sound that bubbled up from her throat like a fountain, "You're so strange."

John felt his cheeks turn hot and he chewed his lip, "Sorry."

"No, it's cute," she reassured him with her lips glossy with pink goo turned up in a smile.

John didn't know what to say so he gave a slightly strangled laugh.

It wasn't as busy he thought it would be today, especially with the pleasant weather. During the weekend most of his classmates would be hanging around the town, buying treats from the Lidl bakery and chugging Freeway coke. To his surprise he'd only seen one group of them sitting on a bench outside the town hall looking bored and watching Youtube videos and they hadn't seen him. It was cool enough that Kristen was wearing a grey boyfriend jacket over her bubble pink dress. Her high heels rattled precariously along the pavement and she hopped elegantly over potholes and uneven ground. She had her blonde hair curled and falling down over her shoulders, around her wrist was a bracelet with small golden dolphins. John had told her she looked nice when they met in the foyer of the Cinema, but it was more out of something to say and of 'dating customs' than really noticing it, but now he was left less nervous he realised that she really was very pretty.

"I like your dress," he told her.

She giggled and blushed, smoothing down her dress with her free hand, "Thank you. You look nice too."

They walked around for another hour or two and went in and out of shops. John brought her some flowers and chocolate when she was looking somewhere else, and they shared an overly priced ice cream before he walked her home. She cradled her gifts delicately with bright eyes and a constant smile. Her house was only ten minutes away, and when they got to her front door she put her gifts down on the doorstep to pull him into a hug.

"I had fun," she smiled, pulling out of the hug but still standing dangerously close to him. She smelt sickeningly sweet.

"Me too," John said genuinely, flashing her his own smile, "You'll come to the next game?"

"Of course, text me if you want to meet again."

John nodded and she bent down to kiss him briefly before turning around and going inside. John waited for the door to shut until he swiped the sticky gloss off his mouth and wiped it on his jeans. He walked back down the drive, shoving his hands in his pockets, half expecting for some kind of feeling to come over him after his first kiss but nothing happened. He made his way home.

The evening was just drawing in when he noticed that a dark figure was walking behind him. Leaves rustled as the breeze blew through them, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He wondered if the person behind him could smell him on the breeze and then cursed himself for watching so many movies and reading so many books. He gripped his phone in his pocket and tried to steady his breathing to hide that he was aware of the person's presence. It was just starting to get dark and the streetlamps slowly flickered into life behind him. The person stayed a decent distance away, and John was waiting for the almost non existent sound of his footsteps to quicken, but it never happened. He was only a few feet from his front door, maybe the person wasn't following him at all and just happened to be going in the same direction. Again John blamed himself for watching too many movies. He got to the door and turned around to see the figure walked past...and pause, and John recognised him immediately. The thin shape of his face and the dark curls falling down into his eyes.

"Sherlock? What the hell!"

"Hello John."

"Why were you following me?" John demanded.

"I was...curious," Sherlock replied carefully.

"About what? How long were you stalking me?" John snapped walking towards him.

"A while."

John noticed something strange in Sherlock's voice. An undertone that he'd never heard before...maybe anger?

"Are you okay?" John asked, forgetting his own anger at the boy.

"I'm fine John, thank you for enquiring," Sherlock replied, suddenly in a rush, "I've got to go."

John frowned as he hurried along the pavement silently, before turning around and heading back inside his house.

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><p><strong>an: **Reviews are greatly appreciated


	4. Unmatched Aromas

**The Soldier and The Freak**

* * *

><p><strong>Unmatched Aromas <strong>

**1.**

Kirsten was a fan of the kissing. When they met in the morning at school, when they parted to different classes, when they met in the same class, when John answered a question correctly at school, when he walked her home, and when she was at his house and his mum wasn't looking. John wasn't complaining but he wasn't exactly thrilled about it either. She was always wearing some sort of gloss on her lips and he felt rude to wipe his mouth after, the smell of her lingered to his clothing and the curtains and bedding in her room. He wasn't sure if he was a perfume or just her natural scent but it was so sweet it was starting to make him feel a little ill, and there was just no escape.

"John, are you okay?"

John blushed and looked at grass beneath his feet, "I'm fine, sorry."

Kirsten laughed and looked out over the park. It was baking hot day and her hair was all piled up on top of her head. Her white tanktop had a smear of faded purple eyeshadow and her legs were long and tan dangling down from her shorts. The giggles and cries of children filled the air as they played on the playground the other side of the park to them, dog walkers framed the edge of the field, the tennis courts were full of grunting men and women with fuzzy balls being hit over the wired fence which sectioned them off from the rest of the park. John and Kirsten were sat on a bench in the far corner underneath the shade of a collection of trees, some older than their grandparents and some fresh and new. Kirsten was chattering away at him about something that happened with her and her friend but he was struggling to pay much attention, it was just too hot.

"Wanna share an ice cream like we did on our first date?" She asked, batting her eyelashes. She wasn't wearing as much make-up as usual and John was pleased with the change.

"Sure," He agreed with a nod.

They both jumped up and Kirsten immediately locked their hands together. John stopped himself from protesting due to the stifling heat. There was a stall with a very sunburnt looking man at the entrance of the park selling icecreams; unsurprisingly there was a long line to get one. John and Kirsten joined the end of the cue and chatted quietly about school. After a small amount of time Kirsten seemed to get bored and let out a long sigh, kicking the daisies under their feet. John wiped the sweat from from forehead and Kristen cupped his face, bending down to kiss him softly. John held back a sigh and looked behind her while she moaned softly and pulled him closer. He didn't know why but he just didn't feel really anything when he kissed her, he always imagined that it would make him feel something at least. She let out another moan, pulling him from his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed her hands sliding down his back about to rest on his…

"Next!"

John blushed and pulled out his wallet, asking for a double scoop of vanilla and handing over a fiver to pay. Kirsten took the ice cream and lapped at it happily while John received his change the two made the trek back to their bench in the corner. Kirsten put her arm around John's waist this time rather than holding his hand, John couldn't shake off the feeling that he was making fun of his height.

"Want some?" She held up the ice cream and John stopped himself from screwing up his nose. Her lipgloss had mixed with the ice cream and her saliva, creating a sparkly pink mess.

"Er, no thank you," he declined, "It's all yours."

"Aww come on, I thought we were going to share?" She asked, pouting heavily.

John let out a breathe through his nose and took a small lick from the side she hadn't molested and handed it back to her. She kissed him in response, her lips cold and unpleasant again his.

"So," she announced loudly, making John jump, "Do you want to come meet my parents?"

John raised both eyebrows, "Really?"

"Yeah, I've met your mum haven't I? Why shouldn't you meet mine?"

"Yeah, I guess. When?"

"It'll have to be next weekend when my mum has the day off," she told him.

John gave a hum of agreement as they got back to the bench. She kicked off her golden sandals and leant heavily against him, closing her eyes and letting out a long sigh of contentment. John ignored her sharp shoulder digging into his chest and scanned the park, noticing that Sherlock was sat under a tree with a new notebook and a pen between his lips. His heart dropped slightly. He wasn't sure if they were friends or not anymore, they hadn't spoken for almost two weeks now but he never could tell with Sherlock anyway. His maybe-friend looked up as though he had heard his name being called and immediately looked at John, who smiled. Sherlock put his hand up briefly in response and then went back to working at his notebook. John wanted to go and talk to him, but Kirsten settled herself firmly against him and was licking the ice cream that was melting off the cone and dripping down onto her hand.

"Who are you looking at?" She asked.

"No one," John replied, not one hundred percent why. There was nothing wrong with him noticing his friend.

She shrugged and looked around the park herself, suddenly sitting up, "Oh look it's Harriet! Harriet over here!" She waved and dropped the remainder of the ice cream on the floor.

John looked around at Sherlock again and saw that he was watching them intently with a smirk on his face. John narrowed his eyes at him and Sherlock shrugged, still watching them.

Harriet ran over and forced her way between John and Kristen on the bench. John rested his head in his hands.

**2.**

"John hun, what's wrong?"

John shook his head and sipped his coffee, "Nothing mum."

She put a plate down in front of him and he thanked her in a mumble, draining the rest of his mug.

"You're too old to talk to your mum now?" She teased, sitting down opposite him and shaking salt on her plate.

"Never too old," John replied, stabbing a circle of carrot and pushing it around his plate.

His mum sighed and took a sip of water, "Then what's up?"

John shrugged, "I don't...," he pushed his plate away, "I don't know if I like Kristen."

"What do you mean?" Her eyebrows climbed her forehead.

"I...I don't know if I 'like' like her," John elaborated, "I...I don't know."

John's mum pursed her lips and put down her fork, "Do you feel excited about seeing her?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, "I just don't know how I feel and now she wants me to meet her parents and..."

"Maybe you're just nervous about it," his mum smiled.

John nodded, "You're probably right," hitching his shoulders in a shrug.

"Now start eating and stop shrugging, before your head rolls off your shoulders," she winked.

John smirked and picked up his cutlery. Maybe she was right, he didn't want to do anything he regretted later either. Sherlock was next on his list, he missed him and his crazy ways more than he cared to admit. Also he couldn't help but think it might be nice to have some peace and quiet for a change...without Kristen's nattering.

John had just pushed his plate away, letting out a belch that his mother tutted at, when the doorbell rang. John went to answer it while his mother cleared the table, a much lighter skip in his step after his mother's reassurance.

"Hello John."

"You must be able to read my mind!" John accused, stepping aside to let Sherlock in.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I've come for my book," Sherlock told him, as emotionless as ever.

John laughed as a sense of relief flew over him, "Come on, it's in my room somewhere."

"Somewhere? John this is an important piece of documentation."

"I'm sure," John replied, holding his bedroom door open for him.

The sound of his mother clicking cutlery and plates travelled down from the kitchen as John searched under his pillow and duvet.

"You haven't…." Sherlock started, glancing around the room, "You haven't looked in it have you?"

"What? No, no…." John shook his head and frowned, "Where did I put it?"

Sherlock took a silent step towards John, making him jump when he realised he was standing so close. The familiar scent his friend filled his nose and danced on surfaces of his room, dark, musty and a welcoming change.

"Did your mother spill perfume in here?" Sherlock asked, walking over to the curtains and rubbing the rough fabric between his fingers, releasing more of Kristen's sweetness. It mixed with the newer scent of Sherlock and created a sickening dank sugary smell like rotting fruit.

"Er no, that's Kristen," John explained, starting to feel a little dizzy. He marched over to the window and threw it open, taking a large lungful of uncontaminated air.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," John gasped.

Sherlock smirked and suddenly got down on all fours, reaching under the bed and grabbing his notebook that had fallen down the side of John's bed, he straightened up and brushed off his shirt, "It really does stink in here."

"I know," John gritted his teeth and leant against the wall, "Are...are you leaving now?"

Sherlock turned around and flicked through the pages as though checking nothing was missing, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no stay. Please. I mean...If you'd like to," John coughed and stared at his socked feet.

Sherlock's smirk grew and he sat on the edge of John's bed, taking a pen that had been hidden in his crazy curls and bending over his...documentation. John nervously sat beside him but soon found himself falling into the normal rhythm of picking up a book and getting comfortable. As he turned to chapter three he found he melted into himself, the sound of Sherlock's even and controlled breathing almost like a familiar lullaby.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing with Krizzy?"

"You mean Kristen."

"Sure," Sherlock looked up at him with a slight pout invading his lips.

"I don't know I...Do we have to talk about her?" John almost snapped, before he remembered what happened last time and forced himself to sound softer.

Sherlock shrugged, "We're...'friends', aren't you meant to tell me these things?"

"Since when have we followed social conventions?" John asked, folding down his page and putting the book to one side.

"I wasn't aware that we didn't," Sherlock replied, chewing nervously on the end of his pen.

John noticed the motion with a raised eyebrow and suddenly felt the urge to reach out and put his hand on Sherlock's knee. He balled it into a fist instead and let out a long sigh.

"What are you frustrated about?"

"Nothing."

"John…"

"I really want to read this," John replied, picking up his book again.

"Well I really want to talk about this."

"Why? It's got absolutely nothing to do with you!" John watched a flash of rare emotion flicker across Sherlock's intense eyes before he went back to his work and John went back to reading his book...or pretending too.

"John, can you stop thinking so loud? I'm trying to concentrate."

Sherlock had left his book in John's room again, John was sure he was doing it on purpose for an excuse to visit but he didn't mind one bit. When he'd left John and picked it up and put it on one of the shelves in his room so he'd be quick to find it during Sherlock's next return. He lay down on his bed and let his popped his joins….pausing as a wave of Sherlock's scent hit him again. He found himself rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow where Sherlock had rested before he was even aware of his actions. He knew Kristen would come over soon and cover the scent with her own once again and he didn't like the thought of it one bit.

"John? Are you sick?"

"No, I was just….," John sat up, "Er...tired."

"Right," His mum raised an eyebrow, "Kristens on the phone."

"Oh, right...I mean great, coming."

**3.**

John winced when Kristen sat down directly in the spot where Sherlock had not days before. That was it. The scent was completely gone now and replaced with something else. He held back a sigh and let her tug him down beside her.

"I haven't seen you in forever," she whined, clinging to his arm.

"I saw you yesterday," John pointed out, feeling her nails dig into his skin.

She giggled in his ear, "I mean alone Silly."

"Oh right, of course."

"So tomorrow I can meet you at the bottom of Hermitage street and we can walked back to mine. My parents are excited to meet you."

"That's...good."

"Are you nervous?" She giggled again.

"A little."

"Don't worry, they'll love you," She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Okay, thanks."

"I don't see how anyone couldn't love you," she said, her voice a degree lower.

Panic rose up in John's chest and he jumped to his feet, making Kristen jolt, "I need to pee," he blurted out running from the room.

When he returned she was sat cross legged on the bed with an altogether different expression on her face. He sat down next to her and she made no move to smother him like usual and stared at the carpet as though in deep thought. John awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and glanced around his room.

"When's the last time you saw Sherlock?" She suddenly asked.

"Er, he came over yesterday. Why?"

"To your room?"

"...Yeah," John frowned, wondering what she had been thinking about.

"You could do so much better without him."

John frowned, "I do not base my friends on my social position."

"Friends?"

"Yes...friends."

"My mum will be wondering where I am, I'll see you tomorrow," She stood up and left without even giving him a hug.

Meeting her parents the next day was made ten times worse by the fact she was mad at him for reasons unexplained. Her mother was a quiet, bony figure who gave them all tea and cakes before sitting down and studying John carefully. Her father was a large round man with a booming voice and shook John to his core as he poured question after question at him. Kristen sat silently beside him and added too much sugar to her tea. Their house was too large and too dark, even though the drawing room was filled with buzzing lamps that spewed out artificial and cloudy light. The future was all dark wood and the walls were a faded pattern of green and dark brown. A thick layer of dust covered every surface and teased John's senses.

"So John, Kristen tells me you've been very respectful to her?"

"Yes Sir."

"And that you haven't pressured her into anything she didn't want to do?"

More like the other way around, John though. "Of course not, Sir."

"So you don't think she's attractive?"

"W-W-What?"

"Do you think she's attractive?"

"Of course!"

"But not pretty enough to make a move?"

"I-Sir, it's completely up to her," John flushed, balling his hands into fists.

"Are you not going to try some of my wife's cake?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"She spent all this time baking for you and you're not going to try the fruits of her labour?"

John itched the back of his neck before picking up a cupcake topped with pastel green icing and small pink sweets. He peeled of the immaculate brown wrapper, getting sticky icing on his fingers, and took a bite. The sweetness invaded his mouth and charged down his throat, small crumbs of cake getting stuck and he fought the urge to cough reaching for his tea to unclog them.

"Wow these a delicious," he said smiling at Kirsten's mother and trying to make it look genuine. Her expression didn't change and sweat formed across John's top lip.

"Let's go upstairs," Kristen grabbed John's hand out of the blue and tugged him to his feet, "I'll see you later Daddy, Mummy."

John followed silently along too sparsely decorated hallways and one flight of stairs to a bright pink door that matched nothing else in the house. Kristen pushed it open and a tidal wave of that sweetly sick scent crashed over John, Kristen pulled him further into the room until they were sat on her huge bed. John only had enough time to take in the fact that everything in the room was a shade of pink before Kristen lips, thick with some sort of glittery goo, were pressed against his own.

John pushed her away, "I thought you were mad at me?"

She shook her head and launched towards him again.

He was pushed back again the back while Kristen clambered on top of him, her knee hitting him painfully. Her freezing hands were suddenly untucking his shirt and running over over his chest.

"Kristen stop," John shuddered, pushing her off him.

Kristen's cheeks turned a violent red.

"You're parents are downstairs," John explained, putting his hand on her shoulder.

She sighed and turned into his chest where he held her gently, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. You're parents hate me."

She shook her head, "They're always like that, pay no attention."

"Wanna watch a movie?"

"Okay."

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><p><strong>An**: If you have any suggestions about where you'd like this fiction to go I'd love to hear your ideas! Just drop them by in a review. If you'd like the rating to go up let me know. Thank you for reading and sorry for the wait!


	5. Suspicions

**The Soldier and The Freak**

**Suspicions**

**1.**

Kristen seemed to fall back into her normal cheery self after they'd watched _Alice in Wonderland_ together. The only difference that she wanted to be around him even more than usual and introduced herself as "John's _girlfriend _" and John as "_My boyfriend." _You could say she was more enthusiastic than before, it could even be seen as a little...possessive. John quickly decided that it was a lot better than having her mad at him, and happily obliged to holding her hand and listening to her chatter. Sherlock kept his distance when she was around, which was probably wise as John was sure he had saw her glaring at the genuis a few times. About three days after the meeting of Kristen's family, she and her parents travelled away for the weekend to visit some kind of convention her father was interested in. Unsurprisingly, less than an hour after she had given a long emotional goodbye, Sherlock was at his house enquiring about his "important documentation." John had smirked and stepped to the side to let Sherlock in, telling him he could come over without leaving his book here.

"John, I have no idea what you're referring to," Sherlock replied, walking close enough to John that their shoulders brushed. John felt himself shiver at the contact

"Of course not Sherly," John teased, opening his door and letting Sherlock inside before closing it softly behind them.

"John please. Now where is it?"

John was amused, pursing his lips, "Can't you see it?"

Sherlock's eyebrows climbed his forehead, "Can you not produce it?"

"Of course, but you're usually so good at that type of thing."

Sherlock's lips turned to a thin line, "I am."

"Well then find it," John indicated to his a waiting room with a gesture of his hand and perched on the edge of his neatly made bed.

Sherlock entwined his fingers together and stretched them out in front of him until they clicked, "Very well."

Two hours later Sherlock was checking under his bed for the fifth time while John finished the next chapter of his book.

"Do you want me to tell you where it is yet?" John sighed, stretching his arms above his head.

"No," Sherlock grumbled, distracted by a slight coffee stain on the carpet, he bent down and put his finger against the stain as though making measurements.

"I don't think the perimeter of an old coffee stain will lead you to a notebook…"

"Shut up John, you know nothing about deduction."  
>John smirked, quietly enjoying watching Sherlock's frustration grow as he folded his legs under him and rested his head in his left hand. Sherlock in the current moment was completely out of the shell he usually encases himself in, John made a mental note to ask him to do things like this more often. Not only was it highly entertaining, he felt like it was doing Sherlock a lot of good.<p>

"What are you looking for?" John enquired.

"Everything," Sherlock replied, taking a minute to look at John, deadly serious.

John's smirk fell from his face and faded into the carpet below.

"Why can't I find it?" Sherlock grumbled to himself, rubbing his forehead, "What is wrong with you? Wake up, wake up, wake up."

"Hey...It's fine," John frowned, getting up from the bed but hesitating in front of it.

"No, no it's not "fine"," Sherlock looked up and glassy eyes and John frowned, taking a step forward and placing a hand awkwardly on Sherlock's shoulder. His stomach dropped at the contact.

"It's just a notebook, I'll get it…."

"No, it's not the notebook it's the fact that I can't find it. I always find it, I'm a genius. I see everything John, everything that's going on in this room. Everytime I look at you it's just a huge wave of information and it's so tiring, John," Sherlock gasped in a breath and clamped his hand over his mouth.

John swallowed heavily, he'd never seen Sherlock look so small and fragile. He suddenly noticed the bags under his eyes and the tremble in his lip, "Just...sit down okay?"

"No, I should go-"

"Don't," John shook his head, "Please?"

Sherlock watched John for a long thirty seconds before he sat precariously on the edge of the bed and stared longingly at his shoes.

John sat a little distance away from him, feeling completely at loss of what to do, "Do you...want to sleep?"

"I can't. I haven't slept properly for months."

"Why?"

"My head is always so busy, too loud," Sherlock pressed both his palms against either side of his head as though he was trying to squeeze the noise out of his head.

John chewed his lip, "Maybe you should…."

"Should what?" Sherlock looked up with narrow eyes and John understood it was a very touchy subject.

"...go to a doctor?" John mumbled quietly.

"And be locked up in a mental ward? No thank you John."

"I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't…"

"I know," Sherlock sighed and dragged his hand through his messy curls. He cleared his throat, "So where is this mysterious hiding place of the documentation then?"

John rubbed the back of his neck and stood up, moving over to his shelf and pushing some books aside.

"Oh...I can't find it. I put it right here," John frowned, checking a few more places where it could have fallen, "I don't get it."

Sherlock was suddenly up from the bed, his shoulders stiff, "You've lost it?" He exclaimed, his voice shaking slightly.

"No I...I don't know."

"If I couldn't find it, it's definitely not in this room. Could you have moved it?"

"No, I haven't touched it since I put it up here."

Sherlock was still, "Someone's taken it," he swooped around and walked out of John's bedroom and started glancing around the rest of the house, a panic in his eyes.

"No one even goes in there, apart from my Mum and...well Kristen but she wouldn't...would she?"

"I have to go."

John frowned, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lose it."

"It's not your fault," Sherlock gave him a rare smile before turning on his heel and leaving the house.

John let out a long sigh and went to find his Mum.

**2.**

"Are you still friends with that...that Sherlock guy?"

"Of course. He's my best friend."

Kristen made a nose of distaste and wound spaghetti around her fork.

"Why don't you like him?" John frowned, picking toppings of his pizza.

"He's just so…."

"So what?"

"Obsessed with you."

John's eyebrows rose on his forehead and he licked some tomato sauce from his lip, "What are you talking about?"

He and Kristen had started going on dates to lots of different restaurants around the area, Kirsten insisted it was the only way to find a place where they could then go to on all their special occasions. This particular Italian restaurant resulted in an hour bus ride and wondering around in the rain lost for a short amount of time. John was pretty sure that it was worth it for the ambiance and food, they sat in the dimmed fussy light that made him feel hazy and calm.

"You can't be serious, you must see it!" Kristen exclaimed, pouting her lip.

John shook his head, "It must just be you Kizzy."

She opened her mouth to protest but her phone rang and she immediately went tense, fumbling in her bag desperately to find it and jumping to her feet to answer it outside.

John watched her put if the window as she spoke hurriedly into her mobile, nodding furiously and waving her arm in the air. He frowned in confusion, watching her glossy lips in an attempt to read what she could be talking about so urgently. He definitely saw his name, but that didn't him worry too much. The person at the other end was likely to ask her where she was or who she was with at the time. Unfortunately for John his lip reading skills were extremely limited unlike Sherlock, and he was therefore unable to make out anymore definite words. He broke the crust of his pizza into little pieces with his fingers while he waited for her return and wondered what she could be speaking so passionately about.

It took at least five minutes before the conversation seemed to come to an end. She returned with red cheeks and damp hair, sitting down heavily in her seat and taking a sip of lemonade.

"Is...is everything okay?" John asked as she picked up her fork and started stabbing her pasta like nothing had happened.

"It's fine John," she replied in a smooth and quiet voice.

John shuddered at the tone and scratched the back of his neck, "Okay."

"As I was saying, I really think you need to consider getting rid of Sherlock. You'd be a lot better without him."

They finished their now cold meals in silence and John decided that they probably wouldn't come back to this particular restaurant.

They remained quiet on the way home as well, Kristen only leaning down to kiss John's cheek and whisper goodnight at her door before she left without looking back. On the way home his phone buzzed repeatedly until he stopped to wiggle it out of his tight pocket.

8 unread messages from Sherlock:

Hi

Hello

John

Jooooohn

Any news?

...on the notebook I mean

Obviously

John don't ignore me

John couldn't suppress the grin off his face at the messages, walking slowly in the rain as he tapped out his reply:

Hey Sherly, I wasn't ignoring you! No I haven't seen it or heard of it, I'm on my way home now from Kristen's.

Sherlock was waiting outside of John's front door when he returned home. At first he was a little all alarmed by the dark figure waiting in the shadows, but he soon recognized it's profile.

"John," he nodded as he followed him through the front door.

It was late, past ten o'clock but John lead Sherlock to his room and unbuttoned his jeans, throwing himself down on his bed, "How have you been sleeping?"

Sherlock shrugged in reply and perched on the edge of the bed, still in his large black coat with the collar turned up.

"Still...busy in there?" John asked, tapping his own head with two fingers.

Sherlock nodded.

"Take off your coat, relax," John suggested, a little nervous about what his friends reaction would be.

To his surprise Sherlock stood up and shrugged off his coat, laying it over the back of Johns desk chair. He walked back to the bed and lay down beside John, the size of the bed made the space a little cramped but John forced himself to relax. It was nice.

"How was your date?"

John's eyebrows pulled together, was Sherlock attempting small talk, "I was...good."

"I'm glad," Sherlock replied. John glanced at him and saw his eyes were closed.

"What did you do today?" John asked, lowering the volume of his voice.

"Solved a few murders on the news, a few experiments," Sherlock yawned.

John chatted quietly about mundane things in a low voice, watching in delight as Sherlock's breathing evened out and small dozing snores began to leave his lips. He shifted as slowly as possible so not to disturb his friend until he was comfortable, and fell asleep to the sound of breathing beside him.

It wouldn't be wrong to say that John's mother was surprised when her son left his bedroom that morning in the clothes he was wearing yesterday, and with his friend trailing behind him and rubbing his eyes. However she cleared her throat and quickly planted a smile on her face.

"Good morning John and...er Sherlock."

"Morning'" John yawned and slumped down on the couch as usual. Sherlock perched beside him, as always he looked as though he were about to leave any second.

"I didn't realise Sherlock was here," She pushed slightly.

"Oh, hmm, sorry," John realised, "He came over late last night and we ended up falling asleep."

"Right."

John's clothes were disheveled and the top button of his jeans were undone from the night before, his hair was a mess around his face and he had a series of red marks along his neck which had been made by the itchy fabric of his sweater as he'd rested against it in his sleep. Of course that's not how his mother saw it.

"Would...you two like some breakfast?" She blushed and stood up, heading towards the kitchen.

"Yes please," John replied, completely clueless to his mother's deduction.

"I should go soon," Sherlock said softly.

John turned and saw the brightness in his eyes, he looked a lot healthier after a good night's sleep, "Where?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Staying in one place means you miss other things."

John paused, the only nose the sound of his mother clattering in the kitchen, "Can I come?"

Sherlock shook his head immediately, "I do better alone."

John's shoulders slumped, "Okay," his voice swimming in disappointment.

John's mum put a plate of toast and orange juice down in front of them, and sat in the armchair across from the two boys, "How was last night?" she asked, "...I mean the date!"

John frowned, "What else would you mean?"

"N-Nothing," his mother blushed red and fiddled with the sleeve of her jacket.

"It was good," John replied, watching her cautiously.

She then got up and began cleaning the house, pretending not to pay any attention to their conversation. Although like usual, the conversation between the two was very limited and as soon as the food was gone Sherlock got to his feet and gave his thanks.

"I really must be off."

John stood up too, deciding if Sherlock could sleep in his bed he could give him a hug goodbye. The genius looked surprised but didn't push John away, awkwardly patting him on the back for a second before the older let go.

"Don't be a stranger."

"What?" Sherlock frowned, pausing as he walked towards the door.

John smirked, "It means don't forget to call or text or whatever."

"Interesting," Sherlock mused, before he left.

**A/n: Sorry this took a while to write I have uni stuff to sort out, if you're interested for more let me know. Thank you for reading.**


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